


Spoopy

by dummythetragedy



Series: Halloween 2017 [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Post-Squip, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummythetragedy/pseuds/dummythetragedy
Summary: Jeremy and Michael play video games and pass out candy. Everything is good and nothing hurts.





	Spoopy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making up these damn titles on the spot.

“So you’re just going to stay here and play video games?” The question is punctuated with a gross, slurped sip of black coffee.

“Yeah,” Michael and Jeremy answer in unison, both around bites of toaster waffle. Michael’s individual mouthful of Eggo is accompanied by an orange slice because he is, in fact, disgusting.

Dad sets down his coffee and retreats behind a newspaper that he is most definitely not reading before speaking again, “Y’know, you don’t have to… sneak out, or anything. I’m… chill. I’m a- a _cool_ dad.”

Jeremy cringes into his chocolate milk, “I-I know, dad. But there’s a new game coming out today and we want to try to beat it in one night.”

“Not try,” Michael argues, passionately squirting an obscene amount of chocolate syrup onto his orange/waffle abomination, “ _Do.”_

“Zombies?” Dad guesses.

“Ghosts,” Michael corrects with a spooky waggle of his fingers.

“Oh,” His eyes briefly peek over the fatherly shield to speedily glance at each of them, before they’re covered up again with a rustle of paper, “You sure you don’t want to go to some teenage Halloween Party-?”

“Yes,” The pair declare with matched conviction and finality.

“Okay,” Dad clears his throat, his grip on the newspaper tightening until his knuckles are bone white, “I- I’ll be gone for most of the night. So… So be… safe. _Safe_ , safe. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

An all too familiar shudder fueled by dread and awkwardness travels up Jeremy’s spine, drying up his mouth, “I don’t think _you_ know what you’re talking about.”

“Jeremy-”

“ _Dad._ ”

“Michael,” Michael stands up with his plate (practically licked clean, the heathen) in hand, walking to the sink, “We should probably get going, Jere. Lest we be late and ruin our rep as hopeless loser, academic stereotypes.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Jeremy jumps at the opportunity to get out of the trainwreck of a conversation that was about to transpire, standing up and slinging on his ‘BOYF’ bag. It’s hard to wash out Sharpie, okay? And some random letters are not worth buying a whole new bookbag over.

Michael apparently agrees with that line of logic as he throws on his own graffitied ‘RIENDS’ backpack and heads towards the front door, “Bye, Mr. Heere!”

That was this morning.

School had gone by excruciatingly slowly, then there was the trip to Gamestop, and the Dollar General snack run. Now, controllers in hand, halfway into a six pack of off brand Coke, and down an entire bag of Doritos, Michael and Jeremy were in what the pros like to call _the zone._

“Spooked,” Michael speaks for the first time in twenty minutes.

“Health pack,” Jeremy responds, graciously gifting his friend’s animated character with another shot at both life and victory.

Michael grunts his thanks. Conversation ceases once again, the living room air filled with only the sounds of remote buttons clicking and the game audio of Nasper II: The Revengening. And the doorbell.

The two wordlessly agree to enthusiastically ignore the intruder and continue with Level Six: Pandemonium At The Pumpkin Patch.

Not three minutes later, the doorbell rings again.

Jeremy is prepared to let the damn thing ring all night, because he is _busy_. Michael, who pauses the game with only an irritated huff, is apparently a lot nicer than him. He already knows that, and the annoying reminder could not be more unwelcome than it is right now.

Grumbling to himself, Jeremy starts munching on a snickers while Mr. Nice Guy gets the door.

“Trick-or-treat!” A chorus of youthful voices shout.

“Oh, shit,” Jeremy mumbles around his chocolate bar.

“Oh, shit,” Michael echoes, only, in front of children, “Uh… Wait here.”

Jeremy springs off of the bean bag chair and up to his feet as Michael slams the door, running back into the living room with unadulterated panic clear on his face.

“ _Wait here_?!” Jeremy whisper-screams at him, grabbing god’s perfect idiot’s head with both hands and giving it a good shake, “Are you _crazy_? Tell them to leave! Turn off the porch light!”

“We _can’t_! Do you really want to be those jaded old men that spurn the greatest holiday of the year and ruin the Halloween experience for everyone else?! Think of the _children_! One of the kids out there is dressed up as Spock, Jeremy! It’s fucking _adorable_!”

Be that as it may, passing out Halloween candy is its own realm of awkwardness that Jeremy has been purposefully avoiding since birth. It’s the only reason he went trick-or-treating until tenth grade. Honest. Still, he can’t have Michael thinking he’s a Scrooge. With how passionate the guy is about the spooking season, it would ruin their entire relationship. Their friendship, he means. Duh.

“We’ll put out a take-one bowl,” He attempts to compromise, very generously, considering he just volunteered to give away all of the assorted candy he’d been looking forward to devouring the second he laid eyes on the jumbo-sized bag of it at the dollar store.

Michael, unaware of the severity of the level of self-sacrifice Jeremy has just put forward, shakes his head so vehemently his glasses nearly fly off, “If we’re giving away free candy, I need to be paid in the cuteness of passionate kids in a variety of precious costumes and please do not take that out of context.”

“Michael,” Jeremy lowers his hands, voice not quite a whine, because he’s not ten, “We said we were going to finish Nasper _tonight_.”

“We’ll play in between trick-or-treater visits,” He says, like it’s not the most annoying concept to ever be vocalized, “And the night’s not over until we fall asleep. We’ve both already established that sleep is for the weak, and you have an espresso machine. So we will, _technically_ , finish tonight.”

Jeremy groaned. Michael fidgeted, “I mean, as long as you don’t mind me crashing here again. It’s been, like, three nights in a row, so, I get-”

“You could never leave and I wouldn’t mind, dude. Shut up,” Jeremy’s cheeks warm at the admission, leading him to turning around, swiping the bag of candy off of the ground, and changing the subject, “Let’s go hand out some goddamn candy.”

“That’s the spirit!” Michael’s arm wraps around his shoulders as he steers the both them to the front door.

The Spock kid is even more adorable than she was hyped up to be, and that is the one and only thing that makes up for the interruption of game night. Don’t let the unholy, vibrantly red hue of his face fool you, it’s definitely not the physical contact.

Michael tosses a grin at him as the first round of tiny candy beggars walk away, their pillow cases a bit heavier than before. Jeremy smothers a returning smile with sheer willpower, palms damp.

Definitely not.


End file.
